


Home Again

by Nightfoot



Series: The Uninvited [2]
Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6859768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfoot/pseuds/Nightfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow-up to The Uninvited.  It's been 6 months since Flynn has been kidnapped, and Yuri is getting desperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> A direct sequel to The Uninvited, which you should read first. I was originally intending to leave that one open-ended, but more than a couple of people asked for closure, so here you go. Posted for Fluri Month 2016, prompt, "I long for your touch."

Six months, two weeks, one day, fourteen hours. Yuri checked his phone. And thirteen minutes. That was how long Flynn had been missing.

He surveyed the cardboard boxes filling his cramped apartment. He’d been here for two weeks, ever since he left his residence on campus, and hadn’t made more than a cursory effort to unpack. What did it matter if he lived the rest of his life out of boxes? What did _anything_ matter? Flynn was probably dead.

For what was probably the thousandth time, Yuri skimmed through his phone and opened up his chat with Flynn. He scrolled up to the last few messages Flynn had sent. They were panicked, terrified, with Yuri’s own frantic responses trying to offer comfort he hadn’t felt.

That night still felt surreal. He’d had nightmares about it so often he couldn’t be sure now what the true circumstances had been. What he knew for sure was that had been at home, safe and sound in bed, munching on chocolate-covered pretzels and browsing through Netflix. Then he’d gotten texts from Flynn, which had initially split his attention.

The texts had gotten more serious. Flynn was investigating the weird space hidden behind his room, and Yuri paused his Youtube video to pay attention. Then there’d been Flynn’s confused and frightened messages about finding evidence of a person squatting in the attic… disturbing drawings of himself… realizing the person he’d seen in his roommate’s room had _not_ been said roommate… and then hearing someone coming. Every message had made Yuri’s heart race faster, until it ended with ‘oh god’.

Every time Yuri read that message (which Estelle would surely say was an unhealthy number of times if she knew how often he opened it) he wanted to throw up. Each time, his mind conjured up new images of what had inspired Flynn to say that, followed by the chances of those circumstances resulting in a still-living Flynn.

Flynn hadn’t been murdered on the spot. Yuri knew that for sure. Police had searched the house top-to-bottom after Yuri’s frantic 911 call, and they would have found blood in the attic if that was the case. Which meant that whoever had been in Flynn’s house must have taken him… somewhere.

It couldn’t be a good somewhere. In the past six months, Yuri had become something of an expert in abduction cases. He spent long hours, deep into the night, reading through case files and conspiracy websites. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for - happy endings, perhaps. The trouble was, even the happy endings weren’t so happy because there was always the nightmarish lead-up to rescue. The happy endings caused him more pain than the unresolved mysteries, because survivors could explain the horrors they’d endured and give shape to Yuri’s fears about Flynn. It made him want to chuck his laptop across the room when he read stories of sound-proof cellars, chains and rope, molestation and abuse, and then imagining that happening to Flynn.

And it could be - probably _was_ \- happening to him _right now_. While Yuri sat on a moth-eaten sofa in a quiet apartment, Flynn could be being tortured. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on taking dishes out of boxes when he had that to worry about? Especially when he hardly used dishes anymore, just ordered takeout or ate things straight out of the pot. Proper culinary habits were for people whose other halves hadn’t been ripped away and chained up in a sex-maniac’s torture dungeon.

Yuri checked his phone again. Now it had been six months, two weeks, one day, fourteen hours, and twenty-one minutes since Flynn had been abducted. And he still hadn’t taken anything out of boxes.

Yuri might have curled up in the corner of the couch all day if Judith hadn’t come by. He’d spent the afternoon flipping through pictures from happier days and reading a recipe for lasagna he knew he wouldn’t make and her knock jarred him out of his head. His bare feet hit the cold parquet flooring and he glanced at the microwave to see how long he’d been zoned out. Six months, two weeks, one day, fifteen hours, and thirty-two minutes.

He swung the door open. “Hey.”

“You smell terrible.”

Yuri looked down at the baggy black t-shirt he’d been wearing for two days and then back at Judith. “Hello to you, too. Need something?”

She pushed past him and into the apartment. “I thought I’d come by.”

“Did you text first? I didn’t get anything.” He would have, because Yuri never let his phone leave his side and had been known to drop glasses of water in his haste to check texts. Just in case.

“No, because you would have told me not to come.”

Yuri shut the door and shrugged. It was true.

Judith stood in the entry, surveying the mess of boxes. The only ones that were empty were the remains of pizza nights. She turned around and folded her arms. “We’ve been worried about you.”

“‘We’?”

“All of us. Estelle and Karol wanted to come with me but I said having everyone crowd you all at once wouldn’t help.”

He’d have to thank her for that. He didn’t think he could deal with Estelle or Karol’s optimism on their own, let alone together. “I’m fine. It’s not like I’m dying or anything.” Yuri crossed to the couch and shoved a pile of laundry to the floor to make room for Judith to sit.

“Clearly.” She sat, but pulled her legs up to avoid his pile of clothes. “You moved out of rez and no one has heard from you since.”

Yuri sat on the arm of the couch, arms’ folded. “I’ve been busy.”

Judith’s eyes crossed the empty walls and boxes. “Obviously not with setting up your new place.” Her voice turned more sympathetic when she asked, “Why didn’t you just stay in residence for next year? You have enough to worry about without taking care of your own place.”

Yuri turned away to look out the window. “Yeah, well, they prefer if only students stay on campus and seeing as I dropped out….”

“Oh? When did that happen?”

“When I got my grades back and realized I only passed two of my classes and decided I didn’t have time for this.”

“So… what are you going to do now?”

He shrugged. “Who knows.”

“Shouldn’t you have thought of that before dropping out of school? The school health centre offers therapy, too. If you talked to someone there and explained what you’re going through and why you failed, you could get a medical exception and try this semester over next year.”

“I’m not doing that.” The last thing he wanted to do was talk to a complete stranger about Flynn. “Besides, I don’t want to try again next semester. Half the reason I even went to university was because Flynn encouraged me. I just… don’t care anymore.”

Judith was quiet. She intertwined her fingers over her knee and let the silence rest. After a while, she said, “It’s weird without him.”

Yuri closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“The last time I talked to him, I teased him about an axe murderer hiding in his closet.”

He winced. “Yeah.”

She turned her head and spoke to a corner of the room in a soft, thoughtful voice. “I don’t suppose we’re ever going to see him again.”

Sometimes Yuri hated Judith for how blunt she was. Then again, sometimes he loved her for the same reason. It was nicer to face reality than hear Estelle’s, ‘I’m sure he’ll show u any day now,’ one more time.

Yuri struggled to not swallow the words in a fit of unfounded optimism. “Probably not.”

“Have you heard anything from the detective in charge of the case?”

“No.” He’d spoken to Detective Leblanc frequently throughout November. In the absence of any living family, Yuri was the closest Flynn had to a next of kin. The detective had been optimistic at first, assuring Yuri that the case had some promising leads. When they found Flynn’s shoe, he’d told Yuri it was an important clue and the dogs were sniffing the area for a trail. Then November turned to December without any lead-ups and the case ran as cold as the oncoming winter. He hadn’t heard from Leblanc in over a month now. He wondered if the man was still focusing on Flynn or if that case file had been shuffled to the back of his, ‘just in case’ while he turned his attention to new cases that might actually be solved.

“Estelle found out she was accepted into her second-year program.”

“Good for her.” He made a mental note to send her a congratulatory text, knowing he probably wouldn’t.

“We’re going out for dinner tonight to celebrate. You should come.”

“I’ll think about it.” How dare they? Celebrating and having fun while Flynn was suffering. That was dumb, of course. They couldn’t all put their lives on hold while waiting for news of Flynn. Yuri forced himself not to hold it against them, but that didn’t mean he could do it himself. Every time he enjoyed himself he had guilt squirming in the back of his mind that he had no right to relax and have fun until Flynn could do it with him.

“It would be good for you. We’re going to that Italian place on King Street and then to the pub. At the very least, it will give you a reason to take a shower and change out of your sweats.”

“Oh, is that what this is? Operation Make Yuri Shower?” He tried to make it sound like a joke.

“Well, it’s certainly a secondary goal at least. Yuri, you can’t lock yourself up in your apartment forever.”

“I never said I was planning to.”

“Actions speak louder than words.

So what if he did? Why shouldn’t he lock himself away in a dank room? It was no better than what happened to Flynn.

The couch squeaked as Judith got up. “I’m not going to hug you because you smell bad. What I think we should do, though, is start unpacking your boxes.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Her hand rested on his arm. “Yes, it is. You can’t keep living like this. You know Flynn wouldn’t want you to, either. Let’s unpack your boxes and start making this look like a home. At the very least, it’s something you can focus on.”

Yuri sighed. Maybe she had a point. Having a project to work on would at least stop him from lying on the couch feeling helpless and miserable. “Alright. Thanks.”

Yuri did end up going out that night. After unpacking all his clothes and putting them in the closet (Judith said leaving them in piles on the floor didn’t count as unpacking) and making some headway in getting his kitchen organized, he reluctantly agreed to join the others for dinner. He put on a fake smile and slapped Estelle on the back, but he felt better seeing how all the others had trouble not looking at the empty seat around the table, too.

Karol was sent home early while the rest of them headed to the pub, which was the one part of the evening Yuri had actually looked forward to. Getting drunk had certainly become a frequent pastime in these past six months (plus two weeks, one day, twenty-two hours and ten minutes).

When he got home past one in the morning, there was still beer in his fridge, so he decided he didn’t feel like sobering up and experiencing his full range of emotions yet. He knew Estelle would have some stern things to say about this decision, but ignored those thoughts and made himself comfortable on the couch with a handful of beers standing by. Once again, he opened Flynn’s chat log.

 _I miss you_ , Yuri wrote. Further up were countless similar messages. Every time he got drunk, he found himself texting Flynn on the off chance that Flynn ever saw the messages. He’d gotten a reply once, after the first time he’d done it, but he’d convinced himself it was a delayed message that had only just gone through. It was a nicer thought than any alternative.

Besides, if there was anything substantial to it, he’d have gotten more responses. Instead, the chat log was a long string of unanswered declarations of love, drunken inquiries about where he was, and melodramatic words of loss and longing. Sober-Yuri was always slightly embarrassed to see what his drunk self said into the void, yet here he was again. He lived in fear of the day Flynn’s phone contract was cancelled and the number was given to some stranger, but until then he’d use it as the one place he felt comfortable expressing his thoughts.

_I wish you would come back. I wish I could save you. I wish I could find whoever took you and punch them until their face caved in. I wish I could hold you and tell you everything I feel in person instead of typing it in this stupid box._

Yuri felt tears threatening to break through his defenses. He swallowed more beer to help his mind fight off emotions. Then he wrote something else, something he couldn’t help thinking but felt guilty about every time it crossed his mind. He knew it made him a horrible, selfish person who didn’t deserve to be Flynn’s boyfriend, but he wrote it anyway. After all, Flynn was never going to see it.

_I wish you were dead. I wish you’d been murdered on the spot. At least then I’d KNOW. At least then I wouldn’t have to think about you suffering for months. At least I could let go of this stupid hope and grieve in peace._

* * *

 

Yuri’s least favourite way to wake up was with a phone call. He jolted awake on the couch while his phone jangled and buzzed on his stomach, where he’d left it before passing out. His neck hurt from using the couch’s armrest as a pillow and the small army of empty beer bottles explained why every beep of the phone made his head threaten to explode.

Yuri slammed the phone to his ear, eyes still closed, mouth feeling like sandpaper. He strongly consider bashing the ‘reject’ button and rolling over to go back to sleep. The only reason he didn’t was because he wanted to swear at whatever shithead thought it was appropriate to make phone calls at the asscrack of dawn.

He slammed the phone to his ear. “Fuck off.” But, considering the state of his voice, it was more of “f’goff”.

“Good morning, Yuri.”

It was a man’s voice, but in his state that was all he could make out. “Whaddya want?” His other hand rested on his forehead, trying to block out the light streaming through the window.

“This is Detective Leblanc.”

And suddenly, the hangover faded to the background of his attention. Yuri’s eyes popped open and his heart beat double-time against his ribs. Not sure what to say, he opted for, “...Yeah?”

“How are you doing this morning?” Leblanc’s voice was _way_ too cheerful to be allowed. No one should be that cheerful this early in the morning, especially not someone who only ever spoke to Yuri to give him bad news.

His head throbbed. “Not fucking good. What’s the deal?”

“Sorry to wake you up.” He didn’t sound sorry. He sounded like he was grinning over the phone. “I know it’s pretty early, but I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible… we found him.”

His breath stopped. Yuri rubbed his eyes and wondered if this was one of those cruel dreams he often had. He couldn’t even think of what to say, certain that getting excited would just make it hurt more when it turned out this was a trick.

“Yuri? You still there?”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m here.”

“He showed up at an emergency room downtown last night. We’re still trying to identify the car that dropped him off. I’m going to need you to come to the station later to look at the surveillance footage from the hospital and see if you recognize it.”

“Uh… yeah… sure.” He was floating. This wasn’t real. Any minute now he’d wake up and realize this had all been a dream and the crush of ruined hope would kill him. And yet, it kept going. His heart kept thumping, strong and real and awake, and he’d never had a dream with such vivid dryness of the mouth.

“I’m on my way to the hospital now. I can pick you up and give you a lift if you want. Do you still live on campus?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Yes, pick me up, but I live off campus now.” Yuri gave him the new address.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

After the detective hung up, Yuri sat on the couch in a daze. Had… had that just happened? Moving automatically, he stumbled to his room and robotically pulled out clothes. He still needed to shower, but there was no time now. He splashed some water on his face and quickly shaved the patches of stubble, then threw on a shirt and combed his hair. Part of him didn’t want to get too dressed up - too excited - because he was still afraid this bubble of euphoria would burst at any second.

When Leblanc came to the door, Yuri noticed him looking at the discarded beer bottles and then back to Yuri’s dishevelled face.

“Have a rough night?”

He stepped outside and locked the door. “I’ve had better.”

“Don’t worry about it. In this job, you get used to seeing people at their worst. This story, at least, has a happy ending.”

Did it, though? Yuri knew what the happy endings for these kind of stories were like. He realized that the detective hadn’t told him what condition Flynn was in, only that he was in the hospital. Once he was settled in Leblanc’s car, he dared himself to ask, “How is he?”

“I haven’t seen him yet. A bit after midnight, a car pulled up in front of the emergency room, shoved him onto the sidewalk, and drove off. The staff, of course, took him in right away. As far as I know, he hasn’t regained consciousness yet. It was just a couple hours ago that they’d gotten him stabilized and cleaned up and a nurse recognized him from the news reports and called us.”

Stabilized was a good word. At least it meant Flynn wasn’t actively dying. “Who do you think dropped him off? If they were helping him, wouldn’t they take him in or want attention for their heroism?”

“My theory is that it was the abductor himself. Got tired of Flynn, perhaps. Or else saw his physical state was deteriorating and didn’t want him to die.”

Yuri scowled out the window at the streets, grey and empty in the dawn light. “How charitable.”

At the hospital, Yuri stood in the waiting area while Leblanc spoke with a receptionist. It was surreal to think that Flynn was somewhere in this building and it took effort to wait for Leblanc to come back with information instead of running through the halls, shouting Flynn’s name. His hangover stamped its feet in the background like a petulant child demanding to be noticed, but his lightheaded joy was stronger even than that.

They took an elevator to the third floor and then Leblanc pointed to a coffee shop built into the wall of the reception area. “He’s in room 325. The nurse said he’s awake and coherent. I need to question him, but I’ll let you see him first. When you’re ready, come get me over there.”

Yuri walked down the hall in a daze. He’d been so sure Flynn was dead, or at least gone forever. Hoping that his boyfriend would miraculously be found alive after being spirited away by some maniac was delusional. Flynn was out of his reach forever, locked away in a cellar or dead in an unmarked grave, because Yuri was a terrible boyfriend who hadn’t recognized when a situation was dire. Yuri had always been a terrible boyfriend. From making fun of Flynn’s hard work, egging him into pranks he didn’t approve of, and never once telling him how he actually felt, it was obvious that Flynn deserved better. Yuri could never have guessed he’d be given a second chance.

When he finally reached the door to the hospital room, he froze with his hand on the knob. It really would be Flynn in there, right? This wasn’t just a hallucination?

If he went in and the room was empty, then he could go back to being miserable in peace. If Flynn _was_ there, then he’d waited six months (two weeks, two days, five hours, forty-six minutes) to see someone who loved him, and Yuri didn’t want to make him wait a second longer. He entered the room.

Flynn looked up and Yuri nearly collapsed to the floor. _He was really there_. It was Flynn, and he was _alive_. It didn’t matter that his face was pallid and sunken, or that an IV snaked out of his arm and a pulse-monitor clung to his finger. The bed was folded up so he could sit upright and the remnants of breakfast sat on a tray next to him. “Good morning.”

Yuri crossed the room in milliseconds and dropped to his knees by the side of the bed. Relief spilled out in a laugh. “Where the hell have you been, you fucker?”

Flynn pouted. “Nice to see you, too….”

Yuri leaned over the bed and planted his hands on Flynn’s shoulders. They were bony and frail, but warm. Flynn’s lips were even warmer, even if they were dry and cracked. Yuri never wanted to stop holding him because look what had happened the last time Yuri wasn’t holding him. “I love you,” he breathed as soon as he managed to occupy his mouth with something other than kissing. “I always meant to tell you. I love you. I should have said it ages ago. I _love_ you, so much, and don’t ever do this to me again.”

“I love you, too.” Flynn’s arm reached for Yuri’s to gently hold his bicep. Yuri tried not to think about how weak that grip was or the red marks scattered across it. The worst were the angry raised lines circling his wrists; it was too easy to imagine rope tied too tightly and digging into the skin.

“What happened to you?” Now that it was confirmed that his Flynn was alive and here, Yuri needed answers to the million other questions he had. He sat on the edge of the bed and held Flynn’s hand. “I’ve been freaking out, Flynn. You were texting in the attic and then nothing.”

Flynn grimaced and his gaze fixed on the wall. “I was in a basement. I don’t know what city. As for what happened….” He swallowed hard.. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. “A lot happened.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Yuri squeezed Flynn’s hand even tighter. He was dying to know, but it wasn’t worth it to make Flynn relive that trauma. Anyway, Leblanc would be here soon and he was going to ask all the same questions, so Yuri could leave it for now. “Do you know why he decided to let you go?”

Flynn turned his eyes back to Yuri. “Sorta.”

With his free hand, he tugged his blanket and pulled it away from his left leg. Yuri’s stomach twisted when he saw the bandages tightly wound around the stump midway down Flynn’s calf. He’d been so focused on Flynn’s face he hadn’t even noticed.

“Flynn….”

“It’s ok.” He shook the blanket to partially cover it again. “I’m actually kind of glad it happened.”

Yuri’s face was knit in a tight frown. “Why?”

“I remember… I was lying on a dirty mattress, feverish, freezing and burning up at the same time. My leg hurt so bad. All the skin around the wound was red and dark veins crept up past my knee. I thought it would kill me… I hoped it would soon…. He didn’t want me to die but every time he tried to fix the problem it just got worse.”

“So he brought you to a hospital.” It was… weird. Yuri felt a strange sense of gratitude to the bastard who had done this because at the very least - the _very_ least - he’d given Flynn back rather than letting him die. “It sucks the doctors couldn’t save your leg. After all that, they had to amputate it anyway.”

Flynn stared at his leg, forehead creased. Softly, so Yuri could barely imagine the nightmare beneath the words, he said, “The doctors weren’t the ones who cut off my leg.”

Yuri had to take a moment to wrap his head around this and tried to stop imagining how that scene had played out. He breathed, “Shit. Flynn….”

Flynn turned his head away and muttered, “He said he loved me.”

Yuri’s throat tightened. “Fuck that guy.”

“He said…” Flynn was still staring at the wall. “God, so much has happened. Is it really May? I was with… with _him_ for six whole months? Half a year of my life just… gone.” His whole body shuddered and his voice lowered to a whisper. “I thought I was going to die, Yuri. I wanted to die. Every time he had the knife I wished he’d just slit my throat and end it. Stop dragging it out. Stop touching me. And now I l-lost my leg and - and nothing will ever be the same and I just….” Tears welled up in his eyes and his voiced came out choked and ragged. “I was so scared, Yuri.”

“Shh.” Yuri leaned down and pressed his forehead against Flynn’s, one hand gripping his, the other holding his shoulder. “It’s over. You’re home. You’re safe.”

“W-why me?” Flynn’s breathing came fast and erratic. “We was he in _my_ room?”

“I don’t know, but I will _never_ let that happen to you again.”

“Stay with me. For as long as the hospital lets you.”

“Of course. And you can come home with me as soon as the hospital releases you. I have a new apartment now. I’ll get it all set up for you. I love you, Flynn, and I’m not letting you out of my sight for a long time.”

“Th-thanks. I’m sorry I’m a mess. Ha… I thought I could hold it together better.”

“No one could blame you for being frazzled after this. Do you think you can talk to a cop right now? There’s a detective waiting outside. He let me come in first, but he has to ask you some questions.”

Flynn seemed apprehensive. “I… suppose. They want to do it soon, I guess, when it’s all fresh in my memory. Ha.” He grimaced. “As if I’ll ever forget.”

“I’ll go get him. Don’t worry, he’s a nice a guy.”

“Ok. Thanks, Yuri.”

Yuri fetched Leblanc from the waiting reception area and then got a coffee for himself. As he sat and sipped his coffee, the hangover started edging to attention again, but he was too thrilled to pay it much heed. After a few minutes, he pulled out his phone. It was still open to Flynn’s chat. His face felt warm (or maybe it was the coffee) as he read over all the cheesy messages which seemed childishly dramatic now that he knew the story had a happy ending after all. After closing that screen, he typed out a new message addressed to everyone in his friend group:

_FLYNNS ALIVE. Am @ hospital now. Hes talking 2 cop. I talked to him b4. HES OK!!!!_

None of them would be awake yet, but that would be a nice text to wake up to.

Leblanc left Flynn’s room after twenty minutes. He stopped by the row of chairs to talk to Yuri. “I’m heading back to the station now. You can go back to Flynn, if you want. Give me a call this afternoon about coming in to look at the car, just incase you know it.”

“Will do. Thanks.” He stood up and grabbed Leblanc’s hand. “Really, man. Thanks.”

Back in Flynn’s room, he sat on the side of the bed. “How you doing?”

“Ok.” Flynn leaned against his pillow and let out a breath. “Feels strange to talk about it.”

Yuri was dying to know what Flynn had told the detective. He wanted to know every detail of Flynn’s imprisonment, because surely it couldn’t be as bad as his imagination. But, he’d wait for Flynn to tell him when he felt ready.

“Do you mind if… if I take a nap? I’m still pretty exhausted.”

Yuri straightened up. “Yeah, of course.”

“And you’ll stay with me? I’m sorry, you must have things to do today and I’m asking you to sit in a hospital while I’m asleep….”

Yuri’s smile was tight-lipped. “There is nowhere I would rather be than by your side. I’m exhausted too, actually. I didn’t get much sleep. Mind scooting over and sharing the bed?”

Flynn nodded and scooted as far over as he could so that Yuri was able to lay down beside him. They were tightly squeezed between the the railings along the first third of the bed, but they were more than happy to press so close together they looked like they might merge into one. Yuri wrapped his arms around Flynn and held him against his chest.

“Go to sleep. You need rest.”

“I do.” His whole body was still shaking. “But I’m afraid…. I know it’s not logical. I keep thinking this is a dream and if I go to sleep, I’ll wake up back there and it will all start again.”

Yuri hugged him tighter and kissed the side of his neck. “As you fall asleep,” he murmured in his ear, “I’ll be holding you to remind you it’s real. And the moment you wake up, I’ll still be right here.”

“Thank you,” Flynn breathed.

Yuri held him tight until his shuddering gradually faded. As Flynn fell asleep, Yuri tried to imagine what he’d done in life to deserve a second chance. Against all odds, Flynn was here in his arms once more. “I love you,” Yuri whispered into Flynn’s ear. He must have been asleep, because he didn’t stir. And then again, because there were a million ‘I love you’s that Yuri had felt but never said that needed to be expressed he breathed, “I love you so, _so_ much.”


End file.
